


thief of hearts

by paintedviolet



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Original Aliens - Freeform, Original Character(s), Paternoster Gang, Prompt Fic, Sharing a Bed, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, overly invested friends, ryan and graham are there for like a hot second it's mostly just thasmin + paternoster gang, solving a mystery, thasmin, thirteen in dresses, thirteen in suits, thirteen not liking dresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedviolet/pseuds/paintedviolet
Summary: Yaz, Ryan and Graham need a relaxing afternoon back at home, but the TARDIS has other ideas. Leaving Graham and Ryan behind in the present, the ship answers a wish from the Paternoster Gang, who need help tracking down a mysterious new thief making Victorian London uneasy.However, they are all too quick to spot the closeness between Yaz and the Doctor. Clearly, the Coal Criminal isn’t the only case that needs solving, and the Paternoster Gang have decided: the game is now afoot…





	thief of hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: thasmin go to visit vastra + jenny and stay for a week and have to share a bed, whilst vastra and jenny desperately try to set them up ?
> 
> so yeah i got this as a prompt ages ago and IMMEDIATELY got excited, started planning everything. then uni and laziness happened which is why i'm only just posting this. apologies.

‘Just think of it.’

This is the Doctor in adventure mode.

To any onlooker this might look like a game of cat and mouse. Hunched over the TARDIS console, seconds away from pouncing. In her periphery, Yaz clocks the Doctor’s hands clutching at the sea of twisters and pulleys on the console deck, arms bent and elbows level with her head. Blonde wisps have swung free from their sentry positions. From wide lips come the promise of bared teeth. She is almost let loose. All it would take is the push of a lever.

One decision to spin them off into their own little perpetua. Given half the chance she’d send them across the galaxy, just because she wants to show them something beautiful.

She is about to pounce.

The Doctor’s eyes are bright and sparkling. Deep with every glance and deeper still in her stares. Every time they match glances, Yaz is suspended in place. There are unfathomable depths and she has an inkling that even if she spent her entire life with the Doctor, she’d never sink down deep enough to reach the bottom. Never.

But she is tempted to try.

Their eyes are locked. Captured and no way out; right now, Yaz is the mouse. When the Doctor is like this, all bravado and blooming smiles and a thousand thousand stars coursing through her blood, it is impossible not to be affected.

Yaz wants to be affected. That is why she is here with the rest of them, suspended in the vacuum between two solar systems, instead of slogging through tedious police shifts. Yaz wants to be smothered in this feeling; dancing on a precipice.

All it would take is the push of a lever.

Not even a second has passed and she’s surrounded by it. She can taste the tang of excitement again, sharp on the sides of her tongue and immersive. The Doctor’s words float back to her – uttered moments before her eyes landed on Yaz, springing the trap.

‘On Ufanagorta they have 360-degree immersive cinemas. The original actors play their characters around you. Don’t matter what genre.

‘Or we could go the—ooh! Or we could go to Nerra, where you don’t even have seats. They send you the script a week beforehand and you’re expected to play a character. They re-enact George Clooney movies quite a lot. They’ve always had a fascination with George Clooney but I dunno why.’

But then she hears Graham and Ryan behind her, and the heady mist clears.

Before the Doctor, they were strangers. But knowing them has become a habit she refuses to shake. She can hear their rustling from their place on the handrails circling the console: Ryan is repositioning his stance, shifting his centre of gravity from one leg to the other. Probably thumbing through his phone, slowly, carefully. Graham has his hands stuffed into his jacket, and in the loud material of his pockets, he is stretching his fingers around the extra sandwiches rendered necessary for each and every trip.

This is a game they have come to expect, and the waiting gets no less impatient with every rendition.

Their impatience is enough to bring Yaz down to reality. The 90% of her body she’d lost to distraction returns in a blink. Her feet are planted on something solid – on alien metal with alien lights throwing warm orange onto their faces, yes, but they are planted _somewhere_ – and quite decisively, come to think of it. Her hands grip more tightly onto buttons and handles screwed into the console deck and she pushes herself up with them.

She has kept her eyes on the Doctor. She rises above. Hazel eyes follow, and in them she sees the mild surprise, the defeat.

‘We can go to them places another time,’ Yaz declares, and she knows she is the cat now. She stares straight at the alien, challenging the Doctor to dispute her still. ‘Honestly, Doctor, we just wanna see a film back on Earth.’

It is a layered process, Yaz discovers, seeing the Doctor accept defeat. But she only really notices it because she is watching the alien ever so closely. She does not know why she is so concerned with the end of the game – the trophy is the acceptance, the chance to go home – but this is the aftermath, and Yaz is just as preoccupied with it as she is with winning.

The Doctor’s eyes change first: an imperceptible mask, a formation of the clouds that darken the sight. They trigger the rest of her face – the mild disgruntlement, the mashing of ruby lips together. Then posture is detonated; the Doctor collapses into leaning on her elbows.

Finally, the formalities. ‘Oh, alright then,’ she sighs. She springs onto the keyboard and taps in co-ordinates for modern day Sheffield. ‘S’pose we can hold it off for now.’

Yaz is almost successful in looking away. Small repeated moments are inconsequential, but they are pauses big enough to set her brain running. Distracted by the Doctor’s over-expressions, she starts thinking too hard, thinking that the Doctor is not disappointed at all.

Though, really, how would any of them ever know?

The Doctor rearranges her gaze as her hand falls onto the lever. She finds Yaz again and the police officer almost drowns in the disappointment. ‘You dead set?’

Yaz shoots the Doctor a consoling smile but turns away to face Graham and Ryan instead. Better not to be affected. Ryan has put away his phone to stretch out his neck.

Graham is not prone to falling. ‘We’ve been to six galaxies in about as many days,’ he responds. ‘We need a rest. Planet… Nero or whatever—’

‘Nerra,’ Yaz interrupts.

Graham huffs. ‘Yeah, they may like to have George Clooney on their screens – but I’ve had enough of ‘im.’

‘I’m with Granddad on this one,’ Ryan adds, then looks slightly alarmed. ‘Not rulin’ him out completely though.’

The Doctor nods, and pushes down the lever with a flourish. Alien technology comes alive to bring the humans back to humanity. The TARDIS whirs and they are thrown about in the controlled chaos. They can only hazard a guess what it must look like outside the TARDIS doors, but if they are this unsettled inside the ship, then Yaz is sure the little blue box must appear to be freefalling through the darkness. The illusion of uninhibition, all the while being pulled haphazardly to a fixed point in time and space.

The Doctor calls it falling, too, but in a sentimental moment she said the TARDIS was twirling, and Yaz has not forgotten it. This is what fills her mind as they hurtle through something almost endless – a graceless pirouette, falling back to Earth.

In amongst the beeping and the pulsing and the groaning, in amongst the slaps of pulleys and buttons and knick-knacks being attended to, Yaz hears the TARDIS emit a series of puffs. A ship’s equivalent of tutting? It seems strange to come to that conclusion, an unfounded guess coming out of wishful thinking, but she can’t shake it off.

As if the TARDIS could respond to her thoughts.

As if the TARDIS _couldn’t_ respond to her thoughts.

Yaz frowns to herself, knowing the latter phrase makes more sense than the former. That, in any other situation, would make no sense at all. But isn’t that what life is like with the Doctor?

She’s dragged out of her thoughts by the Doctor’s instructions. The more they travel with her, the more they’re roped into flying the TARDIS with her. They are getting better at coping with the graceless pirouette – the most beautiful pirouette in the universe, Yaz adds sheepishly – so they are getting better at thwacking various things on the console. Although she has less need to whizz about, it doesn’t seem to stop the Doctor from running around regardless. In moments like this, Yaz will only see the tail-end of her coat, a white flash of brilliance to contrast the slightly fluctuating glow of the room. It seems to emulate the Doctor herself. Elusive and ever-present.

It’s difficult not to be pulled in by that. But then the TARDIS judders again and she has to focus on making sure her pulley is being pulled.

By the time they touch down onto Earthen soil, all three humans are spread out across the console, pressing this or holding that. It is so much work just to see a film at an overpriced cinema. Yaz is already exhausted.

She wouldn’t change a thing about it.

The TARDIS’ groaning settles into a pleased hum and lights become consistent again. Yaz is bathed in the warm glow, the colours of a new home. They may need some time out from all the wonders of the universe, but Yaz is looking forward to returning already.

The four of them exchange relieved smiles of having landed, at last, and they move away to dust themselves down. Ryan picks up his phone that slipped out his hands halfway through the flight. He checks the front and back very quickly – no signs of damage from the metal floor. The relief is immense, and he catches Yaz grinning at his panic.

‘Ey, don’t tease,’ he responds. ‘I already lost everythin’ on this phone once, thanks to her.’ He jerks his head over to where the Doctor stands, and Yaz, as always, follows.

If the Doctor were human, Yaz would think she carried her heart and her soul on her sleeve. Seconds after showing off an exhilarating smile, she has already stepped back, hands in pockets, hair batted down, frowning up at the main crystal.

It’s not long before Yaz figures out why. Interspersed between the TARDIS’ normal noises of satisfaction are little bleeps – regularly paced, twenty seconds apart. Easily ignorable if you are inclined to think that way.

To Yaz, they are inconsequential; if anything, they remind her of hiccups. She starts to smile at that, but the smile dies in its tracks at the sight of the Doctor. Even illuminated in brilliant gold light, the lines of discontentment collecting on her forehead are deep.

Graham and Ryan are filing over to the TARDIS doors. They have other things to think about. Yaz hasn’t moved. Ryan asks Graham if he can make them all sandwiches before they go, and his granddad heaves his confirmation. Yaz should probably help them. The doors open for the two men and Graham disappears into his living room, checking for any damage the TARDIS might have unleashed onto his furniture this time. Yaz should be going with them.

The Doctor has whizzed over to the console already, typing furiously into the keyboard. Yaz hasn’t moved her feet, just turned her head to watch.

Ryan stops with his hand on the door. ‘You two comin’?’

Yaz should definitely go with them. She was the one who faced the Doctor down, after all.

‘Um,’ she starts. Not a great sign. She stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets.

She doesn’t know where she’s going with this. All she knows is that something is not quite right. She wants to investigate.

She tries again. ‘We’ll be there in a sec,’ she calls after him. Her eyes gravitate to the Doctor’s image again. ‘Right, Doctor?’

Even when absolutely still, the alien’s coat still manages to swish through the air – a residue of the boundless energy wired up inside the Doctor herself. For a second, that’s all Yaz gets. The Doctor’s eyes are forward and her arms are tense, taut, as she tries to decipher what little the TARDIS is telling her.

‘Yeah, go ahead, Ryan,’ the Doctor eventually adds. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t bother to explain. ‘Just gotta sort out a glitch.’

Ryan takes heed, but not without pause. Out of the two of them, he furrows his brow at Yaz, trying to decode her for a second, before he shrugs. When he closes the TARDIS doors, it sounds louder than usual.

Her brain is wired now. Yaz should have gone with them. She really wants to – needs to – take this break from travelling as much as Graham and Ryan do. She misses her family. They won’t be missing her but she misses her family again. She needs to catch up on what she did last time she was here so she doesn’t sound weird. She needs to be present in Sheffield again.

But the Doctor is worried and as soon as she remembers that, all her other responsibilities get lost in background noise.

She sidles up to the Doctor, close enough now to hear the other woman muttering something under her breath. The TARDIS pulses, announcing her arrival, and Yaz gets nervous again.

‘Is the TARDIS glitching?’

The Doctor hasn’t even acknowledged her presence and everything feels so upended. It feels like one word wrong could make the whole room tumble. A pirouette gone wrong. Maybe Yaz shouldn’t even be here.

It’s probably nothing. But she definitely should have gone with Graham and Ryan.

Then the Doctor sighs, and releases the tension in her arms. She stands up again and casts an apologetic glance at her best friend. ‘No, not really,’ she responds. She types a sentence into the keyboard in front of her. ‘The TARDIS is absolutely fine, she’s just getting a signal from the past. It’s being very persistent. And she’s not saying no to it, either.’

Not a fault within the ship itself, then. That’s good news, at least. Yaz crosses her arms. ‘Is it a distress call?’

The Doctor grimaces. ‘Technically, no. I’m trying to pinpoint it but it don’t seem to technological, by any means.’ She hits a button and on one half of the screen, new circles appear.

It’s Gallifreyan. That much, Yaz knows. She couldn’t tell anyone what it says, however hard she tries when the Doctor is around to help her learn it.

On the other half of the screen, a new date pops up, in an Earthen date this time: _13/10/1891._

The Doctor is movement, all at once. Unnerving and consequential. ‘Oh, you—’ she starts, but she cuts herself off when she punches a few buttons. ‘No, we don’t need—’

Yaz is reminded that the TARDIS is very much alive when the ship starts pulsing and moaning entirely on its own. And moving. _Urgently._ Yaz is caught off guard and stumbles a few steps back, but the Doctor catches her arm and pulls her back in.

‘You okay?’ she asks quickly. She doesn’t look too pleased either, but there’s a softening of her eyes when she looks at the younger woman. A gentle squeeze of her arm and that’s all she needs to do for Yaz to collect herself.

Though she still can’t quite look away from that gaze.

‘What’s happening?’ she wonders. ‘I thought you landed.’

‘So did I! And I was proper determined to have a movie night with you three, I promise,’ the Doctor responds. She still hasn’t let go of Yaz’s arm. ‘But apparently the TARDIS has other ideas, don’t you? Quite against me own judgement as well!’ It’s clear the Doctor isn’t talking to her anymore, but Yaz is focused on her just the same.

The Doctor’s conversations with her ship always make the police officer smile, despite herself. If it were anyone else, she’d be questioning their sanity. When the Doctor does it, it’s quite sweet.

The bleeping is still present, still regular, but the TARDIS lets out a grating noise as she flies. Yaz is happy to be distracted by that.

It is the noise the Doctor needs to jump into action. She looks down at her grasp on Yaz’s arm and detaches herself quickly, before running to pilot the ship from the other side of the console. ‘Don’t be cheeky!’ she chides the TARDIS. Turning to her human best friend, she says, ‘Yaz, could you press that button just there for me?’

Six galaxies in six days. Seven, now, Yaz thinks, as she returns to helping the Doctor out. A mad dash again and again. So much for a rest.

She can’t imagine they’ll be showing any Marvel movies in 1891.

She’s almost annoyed.

Yaz is in adventure mode now, hunched over the console, a hunter stalking its prey. She and the Doctor work together to make the ride as smooth as possible; while the Doctor takes the lead, they respond to each other’s ebb and flow, breaking eye contact to return only a few seconds later. They dance as the TARDIS does; the graceless pirouette performed through heavy stomps on a metal floor, through twisting over one another, to tug at another tool. Despite her earlier consternation, the Doctor’s eyes are wild again, as wild as her smile, and Yaz knows her face is the same. This game of cat and mouse has changed. They are both the hunters, and they are almost salivating at the prospect of another adventure to bite down into.

A thousand stars course through the Doctor’s veins as sure as blood. Yaz thinks it is a privilege even to witness it: adventure personified. Life, excited.

Their arrival is heralded in by the TARDIS’ pleased little gong. Just as excitement took over their movements when they started flying the ship together, it gets changed again; shaped into anticipation. The moment of settling hangs over them and, save the TARDIS’ thrumming, everything is silent.

(Yaz thinks she sees the Doctor’s eyes cloud over slightly, but she’s not sure. She’s too busy wondering what’s outside those doors.)

The Doctor turns to her again, and all thought is dispelled. ‘You ready to go?’

There is so much potential pressed into each one of the alien’s fingertips, on every taste bud on the tip of her tongue. No wonder Yaz is so affected. No wonder Yaz is bursting at the seams already.

She beams. ‘Of course.’

Yaz has never been to Victorian London. It’ll be just as alien as any extra-terrestrial planet, she knows, but there’s no time to prepare for the new world outside those doors. The Doctor is a blur gone by, and then she stands at the door, ready to show Yaz a whole new adventure. Yaz’s journey to stand alongside the alien is both short and excruciatingly long, simultaneously, as if the Doctor is bending time for her in a new way, a painfully exciting way.

The Doctor takes her hand, the gentlest gesture, and as she opens the door, she takes a breath. Yaz keeps her eyes on her best friend, and even though there are clouds, there’s a shining the Doctor can’t hide from her.

(A new world, a new adventure.)

She’s promptly ripped away from the sight when a voice announces its unwelcome presence. Right in front of them. Yaz turns her head towards the sound to find three people standing at the doors: two well-dressed Victorian women, one of whom is… definitely green and scaly underneath her black veil, and one person who looks like a potato in a suit.

‘Good afternoon, ladies!’ the veiled woman smiles. She focuses on Yaz. ‘From your anachronistic but much more muted clothing, I assume you must be the new companion. I am Madame Vastra, this is my wife Jenny, and our butler Strax.’

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ chirps the woman called Jenny.

The potato-man called Strax grunts.

‘And, Doctor,’ the veiled woman’s smile widens exponentially, ‘may I express my admiration at your choice of body this time around? Much more pleasing to the eye than the last, I can assure you.’

Behind the two flabbergasted women, the TARDIS whirs happily.

**Author's Note:**

> idk why but the summary is hardcore cheesy sorry lads


End file.
